


Flying Toward the Light

by msraven



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blind Date, Fireworks, First Kiss, Fluff, Friendship, Getting Together, M/M, Picnics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-01
Updated: 2014-07-01
Packaged: 2018-02-07 01:40:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1880163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msraven/pseuds/msraven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Clint have been friends since they met at a group home when they were kids, but agreeing to a blind date at the Fourth of July picnic is pushing the boundaries of even their friendship.</p>
<p>A fluffy AU fill for Cotton Candy Bingo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flying Toward the Light

**Author's Note:**

> Title inspired by "The Very Lonely Firefly".
> 
> For the Cotton Candy Bingo Squares: Blind Date, First Kiss, Wild Card (Picnic), Fireworks, Friendship.
> 
> Special thanks to kultiras for the read through!

"I'm just taking a Greyhound on the Hudson River Line... 'Cause I'm in a New York... state of mi-i-ind."

Clint ducks his head away from the mic, his fingers dancing across the piano keys as he finishes the song with a flourish. He looks up at the audience and grins as they applaud. Clint bows in thanks at their enthusiasm—the Fridays when Clint plays at the bar always draws a larger than normal crowd—and waits for the noise to die down.

"Thank you. That is all for me tonight. Please remember to tip your waiters and bartenders. I hear their boss is a grinch."

A few of the regulars chuckle at the joke and Clint waves at those he recognizes before stepping away from the piano and off the small, raised stage. Kate immediately intercepts him, taking a glass from her tray and holding it out . 

"Scotch—neat—for your throat. From the handsome blonde at the end of the bar."

Clint scowls and doesn't take the glass. All of the waitstaff, Kate included, know better than to accept drinks for Clint, even if it's poured by his bartenders in his bar. He looks toward the bar, curious to see what made Kate break protocol, and beams when he realizes that the handsome blonde is actually Steve Rogers.

"Steve!" Clint cries happily as he takes the glass and strides over to his old friend. He accepts Steve's hug as well, familiar enough with his old friend's exuberant greetings not to spill any of the Scotch. "What are you doing here? I didn't think Peggy let you out on school nights."

Steve is Clint's oldest friend. They met at a group home just after Steve's mom died, Clint having jumped in to protect Steve from a group of bullies, not realizing that the smaller boy was actually several years older than Clint. Steve only lived at the home for a month due to a mistake on his grandparents' adoption papers, but had continued to visit Clint every weekend despite his protests that Steve should hang with the kids in his neighborhood. Two decades later, Steve is taller and broader than Clint, and Clint is beyond grateful for their ongoing friendship.

"I have another thirty minutes before I need to head home," Steve replies without embarrassment. "I promised Peggy I'd make it back in time to put James and Sam to bed."

"Everything okay?" 

Steve's wife is currently seven months pregnant with their first biological child. It still amazes Clint that they had chosen to start their family by adopting two little boys from the same orphanage that had taken Clint in after his parents' death. 

"Everything's great! Peggy is getting pretty impatient for the baby to come, but at least the weather so far hasn't been too hot."

"The boys being good?"

"Yeah. Helping out as much as they can around the house like you told them to. They made us breakfast in bed the other weekend _and_ cleaned up after themselves in the kitchen. They can't wait to tell you all about it on Friday. Speaking of which…"

"I'm not going to stand up your friend," Clint says and takes a large sip of his drink to hide his displeasure. He hates being set up on blind dates and only agreed this time because he's a friend of Steve's. Steve is extremely overprotective of Clint—even more than Natasha, which is saying a lot—so this guy Phil must be pretty damn amazing for Steve to suggest they meet.

"I wasn't worried about that. You don't break promises. I was actually hoping for one more favor."

Clint's eyebrows go up in surprise. While Steve knows that Clint will do anything imaginable for him, he rarely takes advantage of it. Two favors in a row is uncharted territory.

"One of the performers backed out at the last minute and…"

"No, Steve. Ask me anything else, but not this."

Steve volunteers at the local VA and is organizing their yearly Fourth of July picnic. It's bad enough that his blind date is during the picnic, but it's been twelve years since Clint performed for a crowd that size and he has no plans of breaking that streak now.

"It's at the beginning and before most of the crowds are expected to show up," Steve reasons. "We're scheduled to open at five with Sharon singing the 'Star Spangled Banner', I haven't been able to find anyone else, and the band at six can't come early. Only the other volunteers and their families are usually there during the first hour."

"Steve…"

"You know I wouldn't ask if I thought it would go badly for you."

"He'll do it," an unexpected voice answers and Clint startles. He hadn't realized that Nat—his best friend and business partner—was still at the bar. She raises an eyebrow at Clint's frown. "Even if you weren't ten seconds away from saying yes yourself, Steve would just have gotten the boys to call you tomorrow."

"I wouldn't have—"

Natasha waves away Steve's objection. "This will be good for you, Clint."

Clint sighs and looks between his two closest friends, confident that they only have his best interest at heart.

"Fine. I'll do it."

  


* * *

  


"I'm here, I'm here. Sorry," Clint whispers as he runs up behind Steve just as Sharon is finishing up the national anthem.

He should have arrived over thirty minutes ago to prepare for his set, but Clint had been delayed by his elderly neighbor's broken water pipe and Clint's usually dependable plumber being late. He'd barely remembered to throw on a faded red t-shirt in deference to the holiday as he'd rushed over.

"You're just in time," Steve assures him. "We made sure the piano is all set up for you."

The applause tapers off and Clint steps onto the stage with a broad smile. He gives Peggy's niece, Sharon, a kiss on the cheek and thanks her for the introduction before sitting down at the piano and looking out over the crowd. He's relieved to see that Steve had been right, only a small number of people have arrived at the picnic—not much more than a good night at the bar. Clint's eye is caught by an attractive older man near the front wearing khakis and a deep blue polo shirt, but he forces himself to focus on getting through the next forty-five minutes instead of ogling the audience.

Clint is done with most of his family-friendly repertoire when he sees Steve signaling that he needs to fill for a little longer. His audience has grown since he started, all of them seemingly enthralled by Clint's performance with several of them pausing mid-stride just to listen to him sing. Clint takes a deep breath and decides to go all in.

"Here's one some of you may or may not know. I hope you don't mind if I slow things down a bit," Clint says into the mic before starting up the opening bars to [the song](http://youtu.be/PVV8cSMh35U). He swears he can hear Steve's gasp of surprise. "Leaves are falling in the summertime… And the days and nights feel the same… I'm looking for the mask I hide behind… So then how'd you go and rain on this parade… Now I guess there's nothing more that I can say…" Clint closes his eyes and lets himself get lost in the music, not opening them again until the final strains of the song fade away. "... that I-I-I can let go… let go…"

Clint keeps his head ducked down, fighting a blush, as the crowd erupts in applause, hoots, and hollers of praise. He looks over the piano at Steve's proud smile and can't help grinning back. Clint stands and does an exaggerated bow toward the crowd, noticing that the man in the blue polo is still there and clapping as loudly as the rest of the crowd. He bows again and jogs offstage to be immediately wrapped up in another one of Steve's bear hugs.

"Clint! That was amazing," Steve gushes. "I'd forgotten how beautiful that song is when you sing it."

"I think beautiful is a bit of an understatement." 

Clint looks over Steve's shoulder to find the man in the blue polo standing just behind them. He is even more eye-catching up close now that Clint can see how the color of his shirt brings out the blue in his gorgeous eyes.

"Oh! Hey Phil," Steve greets, letting Clint go and moving him not-so-subtly forward. "This is my friend Clint. Clint, this is Phil."

A part of Clint wants to laugh at how well Steve has pegged his type, but a much bigger part of him is too busy thanking fate for the thousandth time that Steve is his friend. Phil couldn't be more perfect if Clint had special ordered him. Clint guesses that he's about seven or eight years older, is handsome in an understated way, has kind eyes, and an adorably shy smile. Clint can only hope that he can manage not to screw this date up too badly. 

"I'm just gonna go find Peg and the kids."

Phil steps forward as Steve rushes off, offering his hand to Clint. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Clint. Though I have to admit that I'm a lot more nervous about this date going well after watching you sing."

Clint shakes Phil's hand and blinks at his candid comment. "Oh?"

"When Steve said he had the perfect guy for me to meet, I didn't think he meant it literally."

It's not the smoothest line Clint has ever heard, but it's more than enough to have him stepping a little further into Phil's space. "Then I'm very glad that Steve seems to know us _both_ so well."

"Phil!" another man Clint doesn't know interrupts. "Bruce says you need to talk to Stark about the fireworks."

"I'm on my way," Phil sighs and then turns back to Clint. "Care to come with me? It should hopefully be quick."

"Sure."

"Sorry about this," Phil apologizes as they walk toward the fireworks setup. "I'm technically done with my volunteer duties now, but everyone seems to think I'm the only one that keep Stark from setting the whole town ablaze."

"Well he did come pretty close last year when you weren't here."

Phil grimaces. "You were here last year?"

"Yeah. I think Steve had hoped we'd meet then without resorting to matchmaking. How's your sister doing?"

"Good, thanks for asking. Her broken leg healed with no issues. Do you really think Steve was trying to set us up a year ago?"

"Why does that come as a surprise?" Clint asks back.

"Well, he barely knew me then and he is pretty protective of you."

Clint stops in his tracks and slaps a hand to his forehead. "Please tell me hasn't tried to give you a shovel talk."

"He has." Clint moves his hand to cover his face with a groan—Steve gives the worst shovel talks. Phil gently pulls Clint's hand from his face with a smile. "It was more amusing, than scary, and finally meeting you is well worth sitting through it."

"You're quite the sweet talker, Phil Coulson," Clint teases and is rewarded by Phil lacing their fingers together. 

"Is it working?"

"Very much so."

"Coulson!" Stark yells from a few feet away. "Stop flirting and come over here! Tell Bruce that this one is perfectly legal."

"Not in this county!" the other man argues. 

"I'll be right back," Phil promises, giving Clint's fingers a squeeze before moving away to ensure that the pyrotechnician and fire marshal don't come to blows. 

It doesn't take Phil long to diffuse the situation and then he's leading Clint toward the other side of the park. It's far enough from the stage to be relatively secluded and close enough for them to still hear the music from the various acts. Underneath one of the larger oak trees is a picnic basket sitting on a red-checked blanket. 

"My friend Melinda suggested that, if I was going to have a blind date at a Fourth of July picnic, I should go all out."

"It's great," Clint assures Phil, settling onto the blanket and patting the area next to him. He thinks it's endearing that Phil put so much work into their date. All Clint did was show up. "I don't think I've ever been on a real picnic before."

"Really?" Phil asks as he sits and begins taking containers out of the basket. It's all more complicated than Clint is expecting, with special containers to keep the fried chicken hot and potato salad cold, along with another small cooler that holds soda and water. There are also individually wrapped corn on the cobs and chocolate cupcakes for dessert.

"I didn't really have a traditional upbringing. Spent most of my childhood in group or foster homes."

"That's where you met Steve?"

Phil hands Clint a full plate of food as he nods. "Yeah. You wouldn't believe how scrawny he was back then. The perfect size for bullies to pick on."

"It's sad how some things never change."

"Are you having problems with bullying at the high school?"

"Thankfully no more than the usual, but I still much prefer the night classes I teach at Community over trying to drill Trigonometry into the heads of a bunch of disinterested teenagers."

"That's because we actually want to be there," Clint points out. 

"You went to Community?"

"Thought I should at least have my AA before I started a business. Nothing like the degrees I know you have."

"Don't sell yourself short," Phil counters. "There aren't many people who can use what they've learned into real world applications. Running a business isn't easy. A few extra pieces of paper doesn't make me better than you."

"Are you sure you're real? That this isn't some super vivid dream I'm having?"

The tips of Phil's ears go pink and Clint has an overwhelming urge to kiss him, which comes as a surprise. Clint doesn't trust new people easily—the core of why he hates blind dates or first dates or dating in general—so it's rare that he'd be comfortable enough to be thinking about kissing someone after knowing them less than an hour. Clint has a feeling that Phil is going to be breaking a lot of his ingrained rules, for the better.

"Now who's the sweet talker?" Phil accuses with a pleased smile and Clint grins. "Eat your dinner before it gets cold."

"Yes, sir."

They tuck into their dinners in companionable silence, both of them wincing when the next band begins to play. The lead singer seems to believe that the best way to overcome a lack of talent is with increasingly higher decibel levels. Everyone except the rowdiest teenagers in attendance breathe a sigh of relief when the band finishes their set and the crew starts setting up for the final act, a big band who will be playing much more holiday-appropriate music.

"Forgive me for asking," Phil says as he hands Clint a cupcake, "but you have an amazing voice and are clearly talented. Why haven't you performed here before today?"

Clint takes a bite of the cake to give himself time to gather his thoughts before answering. "I don't mind you asking. It's… I'm just not comfortable performing in front of crowds anymore."

"Anymore?"

"Yeah. Uh… Music was the one thing I always had, you know? The one thing that was mine. When I was bouncing around between foster homes and group homes, I could always sing or, if I was lucky, play whatever instruments that had there. The home where I met Steve had a piano and one of my foster dads taught me how to play guitar. And sure, I dreamt of making it big one day, everyone does."

"I take it that it became more than just a dream for you?"

"It did. I floated for a bit after I aged out of the system, a lot of waiting tables until I got old enough to bartend. I thought about going into the army, like Steve, but I'd figured out in high school that I was gay, so it didn't seem like the best choice. Anyway, I used to play at the bar I worked at after it closed and, when one of the singers didn't show, the owner asked me to step in. Turns out there was a talent agent sitting in the crowd."

Phil leans closer, clearly anticipating that the rest of story isn't the happy ending most people would expect.

"She started booking me at a bunch of gigs, singing mostly covers to get my name out and until we could decide which of the songs I'd written would work mainstream. The gigs got bigger and bigger, we recorded one song, and I didn't handle it well. I was suddenly surrounded by people I didn't know or trust, singing songs I barely liked, and I…" Clint shrugs. "I kind of freaked out."

"What did you do?" Phil asks, reaching out to place his hand comfortingly over Clint's.

"I ran. Left everything behind and hid out at Steve's for six months. I met Natasha, my best friend, as I was getting back on my feet—talk about tough love. Pepper, the agent who discovered me, was really understanding and made sure I got all the royalties from the one song we recorded. I eventually used the money to buy the bar with Natasha. That was twelve years ago and today was the biggest audience I've sung for since I ran away from the spotlight."

Phil squeezes Clint's hand and then interlaces their fingers together. "I'm glad you had and found such good friends. I'm also amazed that you knew yourself well enough not to stay in an unhealthy environment. I think most people would have let the glories of fame overrule what they knew was right. I can't say what I would have done in the same situation. I spent most of my life being what everyone else expected me to be. I didn't find myself until much later—after I left the Army and started teaching."

"If it's any consolation, I really like what you've found."

Phil smiles and Clint thinks he's going to tease him over the cheesy line, but then Phil's eyes drop to Clint's lips and his breath catches in his throat. They're already leaning in toward each other, so it feels perfectly natural to lean just that bit closer and let their lips meet. Phil's lips are soft as they press against Clint's and while their first kiss is gentle, it still sends a jolt of awareness down Clint's spine. Judging by how Phil's fingers tighten in Clint's grip, he feels the same way.

Neither of them are expecting fireworks to explode over their heads. 

They break apart and look up to where the sky is now filled with a dazzling array of colors that are somewhat lost against the brightly lit beginnings of sunset. A frazzled looking Stark and an irate looking Bruce come running around to the front of the stage.

"Nothing to be alarmed about!" Stark shouts. "Just a little premature—heh—release. I promise the real show will not suffer in any way."

"I am not dealing with that," Phil mutters.

Clint laughs and kisses the corner of Phil's mouth, happy when it immediately curves up in a smile. 

"I think it's best we stay hidden, don't you?" Phil suggests. He moves the basket out of the way and scoots further back into the shadows, with his back against the tree. When he lifts his arm in a silent invitation, Clint doesn't hesitate to fit himself underneath it.

They listen to the big band play while nestled against the tree and each other's arms, sharing stories and speaking quietly about their pasts as they wait for night to fall. 

When the real fireworks display begins, Stark more than proves why they put up with his eccentric personality. The night sky radiates with a myriad of light, drawing oohs and ahhs from everyone within view. It's almost impossible to catch every sparkle and nuance as bursts of color continue to erupt, one after another, above their heads. The finale begins—a violent display of fire and light—and the heavens glow to a near-blinding intensity before fading back into still, silent darkness.

In the quiet that follows, Clint turns further into Phil and their lips meet once again. It is a beginning, a promise, and the future suddenly burns brighter than a thousand fireworks.

_fin_  



End file.
